Elven Dreams
by Liine
Summary: Rated for vulgar language and descriptive battle scenes. When Legolas begins to have nightmares describing the death of his friends and family he and his friends set out to find the cause, but to what extent will he go to save their lives?
1. The First Of The Dreams

Sadly, I do not own any of the wonderful characters so excellently portrayed by the great and almight Tolkien! I, such a meager authoress, could never contemplate a world as intricate as the one derived from the brilliant mind of the greatest author ever born into this unworthy world!  
  
Did you hear that, Mr. Tolkien, sir? Can I borrow them now? Please? It was such a good compliment. So many big words should atleast give me three days woth Leggy-poo and Aragorn. Please?  
  
Tolkien: No.  
  
Sigh. Well, there's always tomorrow.  
  
This is my first LOTR fanfic. I usually write Inuyasha fics, so any comments and/or suggestions would be greatly appreciated, but please, No Flames!  
  
If anyone out there is reading this fic and would like me to continue all I'm asking is for one review. I would only like to know that my efforts towards updating are not in vain.  
  
Finally, yes I know. This chapter is pitifully short. The only reason I put it up was to see if it was worth working on. If so, the chapters will most likley grow to be double, or triple (go reviews! they fuel my brain!) the size of this one. This is really more of an introduction anyway.  
  
PLEASE REVIEW!!!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Just behind the large oak doars at the end of the hallway, past several rows of shelves, filled to the brim with great Mirkwood literature, in the middlle of the small opening, there sits a large table. Carved intricatley of dark wood, vines wound their way up the broad legs and small leaves decorated its corners.  
  
But it is not the table, nor the handiwork of the elves, that is of any conscern to us. For our attention is directed to the figure sitting at the table, beneath the piles of books, quietly studying the documents spread out before him.  
  
Well, not everything in that last sentence is true.  
  
Although the elf was quiet, and he was studying. Exactly what he was studying had nothing to do with the affairs of Mirkwood.  
  
For you see, the lonley elf was not really working. He wasn't even awake for that matter, though it would seem so from afar.  
  
If you were to venture closer you would find that the young elf was not in fact crouched over for means of getting a closer view of the tiny scripture, but had fallen asleep. His blonde hair trailing over his arms where his head rested.  
  
Also, if you were to place an ear beside his sleeping form you would discover that a faint, yet easily recognizable, snore could be heard emitting from his throat, and a minute trail of drool could be seen dripping between his slightly parted lips.  
  
The whole thing was quite comical, really. Not only considering that this was an elf, the first-born, the eldest to both dwarves and men, though that thought alone could produce many a night of 'harmless' joking from the elf's 'dear' friends, who occupied the latter two of the three races.  
  
No, that was not the reason. For you see, that snoring mass of wrinkled tunic and unruly blonde hair was non other than the Prince of Mirkwood. Exactly how he got into that situation none are quite sure.  
  
He was last seen in the dining hall sometime around dawn. It was reported that he had much work to do and, not being one who enjoyed waisting one's entire day on paperwork, decided to wake early and therefore finish early.  
  
Sadly, this was not the outcome.  
  
Legolas had spent most, if not all, of last night tossing and turning in bed. Gruesome images of past battles haunted his mind. Images of death and destrution, directed mostly towards his friends and family.  
  
Though the image that dwelled most often in his mind was of one that wrenched his heart. Images of his mother plagued the young elf that night. Something that had not happened in many a year.  
  
Often the guards would see the slender figure of the elf walk solemnly down the long hallways, draped in nothing but his chamber clothes and a dark cloak. Quite curious considering the weather. Then, several minutes later, return silently to his room.  
  
Mind you, one night of lost sleep has almost no effect on an elf, but the emotional torment Legolas suffered that night left both his body and soul utterly fatigued.  
  
And now, in the silent confines of the library, the elf's exhaustion caught up with him, and Legolas's mind became lost once again in the mysterious world of elven sleep. 


	2. Tithlam

I don't own any of JRR Tolkien's characters. Sad, I know. What I wouldn't give for one night with Legolas and Aragorn...I'd put them to good use...hehehe....  
  
Whoops, sorry about that. Sometimes the little people in my head get carried away.  
  
Although they would make good slaves...sigh I wonder if they do dishes...?  
  
I'm sorry it took so long to get this chappie out! I had my birthday party to supervise, and babysitting 14 of my dearest (but pain in the ass) friends is not an easy task.  
  
I still don't like the outcome of this chapter. In my opinion I could've done better, but I was anxious to get this out, and...here it is...  
  
Oh yeah...PLEASE REVIEW!!!  
  
When we last left Legolas he was peacfully sleeping, and now that we rejoin him again, well, he's still sleeping.  
  
The prince lay exactly where we left him, still lightly snoring and still drooling. Only that and the occassional twitch of his muscles could be seen or heard in the quickly darkening room. Outside of the western window the bright orange sun could be seen sinking beneath the tree tops, signifying that night was coming. All was peaceful in the library.  
  
Bang, bang, bang  
  
Untill three loud knocks echoed through the library.   
  
Legolas's head shot straight up at the first sound of the intrusion. His hair frizzled, his eyes, still partly glazed from elven sleep, darting around frantically looking for the source of the sound. He was nervously holding his breath, head turning left to right, listening for any sign of orcs. Realizing he was in the Mirkwood library his tense muscles began to relax, and after several moments of silence a small voice could be heard from the opposite side of the large double doors.   
  
"Excuse me, Prince Legolas. I have a message for you, from Rivendell."  
  
Legolas sighed. It was only the young messenger with a letter. A wry smile creeped its way to his lips, his mind laughing at fond memories. This incident reminding him of the time Aragorn and himself had played a similar trick on the sleeping Gimli. Suddenly remembering where he was, he shook his head as if to rid himself of the thought. "You may enter."  
  
Slowly, the left door began to swing open, filling the once fairly quiet library with the sound of wood on metal. A blonde head peaked out from behind the door and didn't take a step further, as if once again asking for permission.  
  
Legolas bowed his head, a silent answer to an unasked question. The small elf carefully removed himself from behind the door and cautiously made his way to the table, unsure of how to approach an elder, and a royal one at that.  
  
Once reaching the table he reached to hand the letter to Legolas, but it slipped from his grip. Bendng quickly, the small elf reached under the tabled and retrieved the envelope "I'm very sorry, sir, but this is my first day and-" he mumbled quickly. Legolas cut him off with a raised hand and a laughing smile.   
  
Flipping the envelope over, the prince became aware that it was indeed from Rivendell, and began to open it, when a small movement caught his eye.  
  
Altough trying to be as patient as possible, the child couldn't help but to begin staring at the floor, shuffling his feet, and twiddling with his thumbs, the latter having caught the attention of Legolas. As he looked closer he noticed that the small fingers of the child's hands were covered in blisters.  
  
Sensing how uncomfortable the young elf had become, the prince decided to break the silence.   
  
"Now, if you are to be my new messenger then I shall like to know your name." The young elf looked up and smiled a rather toothy grin. "Tithlam, sir."  
  
Now it was Legolas's turn to smile. "Ah, little voice. It suits you well." Tithlam looked down at his feet once more, trying to hide his blush. "It was my mother's idea," he stated shyly.  
  
"Well, Tithlam, do you practice archery?" Legolas asked, eyebrow archered.  
  
His head lifted with such a great speed it practically shot fom his neck. "Archery, sir? Well, yes, in my spare time. But I'm not very good 'cause I have not had a teacher, yet. Sir." His words came out in a jumble, and it seemed to the prince that the young elf very much enjoyed the sport.  
  
"Ah, well that's not good, but your family? Can they not teach you?" Legolas asked. Tithlam once again avoided direct eye contact with the prince, fidgeting nervously. "Um, no, sir. You see, my mom, she can't shoot, and, and..."  
  
Tithlam stopped in mid-sentence, as though it was to hard to finish. His large eyes began to grow red, and his hands trembled. "My dad and older brother... they went off hunting several years ago,"  
  
The tiny frame of the elf began shaking, trying desperatley to hold back the tears threatening to fall. "They never came back." His voice was barely above a whisper, but the strong ears of the older elf easily picked them up.  
  
Tithlam was mentally scolding himself, angry that he had shown his weakness and now looked so weak in front of Legolas, but he just couldn't help it. The tragic day when they didn't return, his mother sobbing, it all seemed so recent.   
  
Reminding himself that this was not the place, especially in front of the prince, he tried to apologize, but the child's words were cut short. He soon found himself being swept up and seated in the large oak chair on the prince's lap, all in one fluent motion. Not being able to hold back the tears any longer he gladly accepted his new position, nestled his head in the crook of Legolas's left shoulder, and began to cry.  
  
For some time Legolas patiently sat there, slowly rocking the child back and forth, as his mother had done when he was scared and alone.   
  
Ocassionally he would begin humming a song. He couldn't quite place the name, ar any of the words for that matter. He only knew the tune, and that alone had a strange calming effect.   
  
And there, replacing the solitude from before, was the only the soft sound of Legolas's voice as the sun shed the last of its light streaming through the branches of the trees. And then the world became shrouded in night.  
  
Legolas awoke some time later and began shuffling in his seat, trying to get a more comfortable position. Even before he was fully awake he became aware that the warmth pressed against his chest during sleep was gone, and he felt strangely cold.  
  
Elves do not feel earthly elements, such as the heat of a sweltering summer noon or the bitter cold of a winter night, as effectively as humans do. So to feel chilled, in the middle of fall no less, was very strange indeed. He shivered slightly, but the cold he was feeling now was different from the sting of the air he had once endured on a trip into the Grey Mountains. This felt as if it was not his body that was frostbitten, but something deeper. Legolas, being the stubborn elf he is, simply shrugged it off, taking the cold only to be a side effect of his lost warmth and the night's chilly air.  
  
Finally composing himself, the prince remembered what it was that had been keeping him warm. 'Where is Tithlam?' he thought, looking around for any sign of the elf. While his eyes searched the library they came across the window. Drakness had fallen, but it was not yet dark enough to cripple an elf's sight. He sighed, hoping that the child had made it home safely.  
  
Then it hit him like a rock, and all hope escaped him again. He could almost feel the bitterness of a lost cause clutching at his very soul.   
  
There was absolutley no way he would finish his work tonight.  
  
'Why does this keep happening' the prince thought despairingly. 'I have fallen asleep twice today. Surely I cannot be that tired, can I?' he questioned himself, but that was not strange. Legolas was constantly hunting his mind for answers he could not immediatley interpret. The thing that worried him was the fact that it answered back.  
  
'Of course you fool,' the voice all but hissed its answer. 'Do you not remember the terrible dreams that plagued your mind last night? The horrifying images of your friends, that ranger, covered in blood. Do you not recall them?'   
  
'Shutup!' Legolas screamed inside his head. 'I was tired, that is all! There is no truth to my dreams, and there never will be!'  
  
'You tell yourself that, but deep down you know that the pictures that haunt your mind are of some importance,' the voice jeered, snickering evily. 'You know it is true, but you refuse to accept it. You must accept you fate, embrace it, or it will destroy you.'   
  
The voice echoed, strong then soft, fading with each repeated verse. The prince sighed inwardly, slumping in his chair, as the voice drifted back into the dark confines of his mind. That voice, it was so familiar. Powerful, yet menacing. It spoke with such confidence that one was led to believe that its words were truthful.   
  
Legolas tried to shake the voice, and the horrible images it had bestowed upon his mind, from his head. But no matter what subject the prince thought of, it always drifted back to the images. The sunlit field, shining with the fresh blood of the slaughtered. The wargs riding between the bodies, sometimes not even bothering to step around, their giant paws crushed all that lay in their path.  
  
And the orcs, making their way through the mess, picking out anything that caught their eye. Rummaging through the napsacks, pockets, anything they could get their filthy clawss on.  
  
Legolas shook his head, trying the free himself of the terrible pictures. He willed his mind to wander from the subject. To recall forgotten memories, happy moments, anything was better than this torture. Thinking back to earlier that afternoon he remembered Tithlam coming in, and how scared he had been been in front of the prince.  
  
Legolas almost laughed, thinking back to how the child had been so nervous that he had dropped the letter on the floor.   
  
The letter! It had slipped his mind. Eyes washing over the table he found that it was not there. 'Where did I put it?' the prince thought angrily. 'The first letter to arrive from Rivendell in over a month and I have lost it!'   
  
Going back over the meeting with Tithlam, he recalled still having it in his hand while cradling the young elf. Legolas momentarily stopped searchong through the desk drawers, staring straight through the wall across the room, as one does when deep in thought. 'It was still in my hand, and if I had fallen asleep still holding it then it should be on the...'  
  
Looking down curiously at the floor and saw that it had indeed been where he had thought, obviously having fallen from his grip. A smile of relief spread over his face.  
  
Bending over the arm of the chair, Legolas stretched out his long fingers and somewhat akwardly picked up the letter. Looking it over again, he placed a slender finger beneath the small tear he had made earlier.   
  
The prince hesitated a moment, an unknowing look replacing that of the humorous smile as he began yet another battle with his mind. After several moments of complete, almost disturbing, silence, Legolas had made up his mind.  
  
Removing his hand from the envelope, he carefully placed the letter off to the side of the table, having decided that the paperwork before him called for his direct attention if he were to get anything done. And, although Legolas would never admit it, he also strongly disliked being in this wing of the building at night, especially with all the things running through his head.  
  
Now that the letter had been found there was no more reason the delay the task at hand. The prince knew his duties, and he also knew that the paperwork had to be finished, but spending the rest of the night working on it did not sound very appettizing.   
  
Legolas also knew, even without looking, that he had not gotten much done. He could just picture the unfinished stack sitting there, so thick, and so much larger than the finished pile.   
  
The prince truly did not want to look, but his curiousity got the better of him. After praying he had gotten a fair amount of work done, he looked down.   
  
Sadly, he was right. He wasn't anywhere near finished, not even close to halfway done. 'This is hopeless. I shall never finish all of this.'   
  
'But...if it shall divert my attention...'  
  
Legolas picked up his quill and dipped it into the ink bottle. After making sure he had the right amount of ink, he touched the tip to the paper and began where he had left off. His delicate writing quickly filled up the blank spots on the page, then he stacked it with the others in a desperately small pile to the left of him, and picked up another from the seemingly never-ending pile to the right.  
  
This went on, or so it seemed to Legolas, for an eternity. His concentration only broke for quick glances at the envelope sitting at the edge of the table. Thankfully, it seemed the voice had retreated and had left the emotionally exhausted elf at peace, if only for a moment.  
  
Several hours passed by, untill finally the prince could no longer sit still. His mind needed rest, and his body felt fatigued as well. 'Strange,' he mused to himself, 'I have slept many hours this day, yet I do not feel rested.'   
  
His mouth spread wide with a yawn, and he quickly decided that it was time to call it a day, or a night, as that would seem more appropriate for this situation. Pushing back the large chair the elf lazily got to his feet. As he rounded the corner of the table Legolas stuck out his hand and snatched the letter, never losing his stride.  
  
The prince exited the library, nodding once to the guard at the outside doorway, silently informing him to close up the room as soon as he left.   
  
The hallways leading through the mansion were large and dark, with only a few torches to light the way, but Legolas knew them by heart and his long strides quickly brought him to his chamber door.  
  
Using his free hand, the elf quietly pushed aside the door and slipped through, never making a sound. Once inside it took him only a few minutes to change into his proper sleeping attire and he gratefully sunk beneath the heavy winter blankets, but not before securing the letter in the drawer of his bedstand. The prince was determined to read it in the morning, when he could devote his full attention to it.  
  
But for now, Legolas was happy just to have a decent rest in a decent bed. Sighing in contentment, his mind began to grow dim. The prince's eyelid's fluttered for a moment, then closed halfway. His eyes glazed over, his body became limp, and then he was lost in the unknown region of the unconciousness mind. 


End file.
